


The Ojisan Hunter

by atraitorslie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Bottom Hanzo Shimada, F/M, M/M, Shimadacest, Sibling Incest, Young Genji, casual hanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 15:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16895169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atraitorslie/pseuds/atraitorslie
Summary: Written for the 2018 Genzo Zine, Redemption. It was an amazing project, filled with some of the most beautiful artwork and fiction. This is my humble entry.delinquent!genji cruising hanamura on a saturday night. he slips into clubs and lets the salt and pepper ojisans buy him drinks and touch his mouth while making lewd jokes. but when they're alone, it's the ojisan on his knees crying while genji grinds slow and deep inside him. and maybe there's a teleporter accident that lands hanzo in hanamura's past where he is literally run over by this genji, who sees a hot ojisan with piercings and a cake box in his calloused palms and thinks new prey....





	The Ojisan Hunter

 

Genji scrolls through the near endless string of messages inviting him out for the evening. Nearly two-hundred amassed and it’s not even nine o’clock. Not bad for a Thursday night. 

From the corner of his eye, Genji spies the limo’s other occupants, heavy browed men in cheap black suits, flinching each time the phone goes off. One of them gathers enough courage to glare at Genji.

“Ya, pretty-boy,” he says, a thin veneer of politeness on him. “Keep it down.”

“Hey, yakuza-bro,” Genji replies in a little song-song. “Shut the fuck up.”

The guy sucks his teeth, but he doesn’t say anything back. He can’t. He’s been paid to be here, whereas Genji was invited as a special guest.

The limo descends back into quiet broken by the sounds of Genji's manicured nails clicking over the phone’s display while replies to friends and followers. Each text is punctuated by a sharp laugh, or a painful sigh, sometimes the pop of his bubblegum against his pink lips, sliding over slick gloss and back into his mouth. It takes twenty minutes before the bodyguard beside from him sucks his teeth, exasperated by the obnoxious behavior. Genji relishes the sound as a silent victory.

The limo pulls to a stop under the sign of a night club, bathing Genji in neon green and blue light. He takes two pictures, one with flash and one without, enjoying the startled yelp from the beside him. He sends the photo without flash to his social site because the light cascading over his sharp features lends a tragically cool air. The message he types below it  is coy: _looking for something to get into.... Or someone._

Immediately, his phone buzzes rapidly, chimes, sparkles with twinkling lights scrolling around the smooth edges like a marquee. Chuckling, Genji opens the most recent message from a Yume-chan. A hazy memory unfurls in his mind from a party three weeks ago thrown by the most famous omnic boxer in Japan. That one had been wild. His memories of the event are vague, and Genji wonders if Yume-chan been the pretty pop idol or the pretty gravure model? It becomes clear when the message resolves into a picture of her kneeling on a silk pillow, hands cupping her breasts up in gentle offering.

“Ahh, _Yume-chan_ ,” he mutters in soft satisfaction.

The picture ripples and Yume-chan begins to move. Her lashes flutter and she pinches the tips of her brown nipples until a sweet moan slips free.

“Oh, Genji-kun,” she whispers. “Please come play with me tonight.” The video flickers and starts over from the beginning.

Genji grins, delighted. “Nice.”

A hum of agreement washes hot against Genji’s cheek. Genji shoves the bodyguard away then wipes his hand on the leather seat.

“This is private, asshole. Stay out of my space.” He sends an apologetic glance back to the pale tits. “Sorry, Yume-chan. You deserve better.”

The phone is snatched from his hands. Unable to read his bio-signature the screen blackens. The lieutenant, Fukuda, frowns before shoving the phone in his pocket.

“No pictures,” Fukuda drawls. “You know the rules pretty boy.”

Genji purses his glossy lips affecting a pout. “You shouldn’t be so mean to me. What will your boss say?”

Fukuda’s glare narrows on him. “One day he’s gonna give me the word, and you’ll regret being so smart.”

Their boss, a man by the name of Takeda, knew Genji hated these lieutenants and that the feeling is mutual. It’s the kind of willful display that makes Genji’s blood pump.

“Nah. The old man likes me, you know?” he says, smugly. “Likes what I can give him.”

Fukuda clucks his tongue, a distasteful sneer on his lips, but his eyes wander down Genji’s body once, slowly like he can’t help himself. Genji waits until those baleful eyes climb back up before licking his lips. Fukuda’s shocked expression steals a laugh from Genji.

“Don’t worry, Fukuda-san. You’re safe from me tonight.” He smacks his chewing gum extra hard just to see them squirm.

Hanamura’s red light district is a mix of charming old-style houses hidden behind wooden gates and new hotels with frosted glass and exclusive membership deals. They arrive at one such new enterprise, a little more subdued than the others on the street, but still a love hotel. The limo pulls around to the back, and with the shadows crowding around, Genji and the bodyguard alight.

There’s little magic in the back hallways. The faintest throb of music vibrating through the walls. Genji steps into the elevator, popping his gum, while they rise smoothly to the top floor. The doors open to a penthouse suit with great glass windows through which the lights of Hanamura twinkle like a field of stars.

Two additional bodyguards occupy the room, and Takeda-san, a crooked businessman whose broad shoulders and paunch make up for his dour face. Genji had met him at an album party of all things.

“Oi. Ojisan. Your bodyguard took my phone.”

Takeda-san gives him a stern look. “No phones, Genji-kun. There are rules, and that is the very first one.  Tonight, you will learn to obey them.”

His guard manage to shift uncomfortably and leer triumphantly at Genji all at the same time.

Genji rolls his eyes. Sometimes he doesn’t know why he wastes time with closeted old bastards when he could be fucking around with the nice obasans. It’s easier in the long run, really. Aunties are always respectful and doting, pinching his cheek gently as they slide into his lap and ask about his day, praising him between kisses. They encourage and tease him and never once forget to slide money into his jacket pockets before he leaves. And Genji likes them mostly. Likes the uninhibited will of a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. Likes being the cocky boy who thrills them. Likes sliding his fingers down the seam of the silk panties covering their pussy until they air between their thighs is hot and sweet from their arousal. He likes how they get so wet for him, every single one, and the way they clutch at his shoulder and whimper his name when his hard cock slips deeper and deeper.

Give him the cute little ladies with their round bellies and hard nipples waiting for his mouth. They’re more generous with everything. Their affections, their money, and their respect for what Genji can do for them.

“Whatever.” Genji sets his shoulders before striding towards the bedroom.

Takeda cuts a glance his direction, hands twisting anxiously, and Genji remembers that sometimes, he doesn’t want generous and freely given. He wants it difficult. He wants to take.

The door shuts behind him, but Genji keeps walking until he reaches the center of the room. He starts unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

An audible swallow cracks the silence, the soft shuffling of feet over thick carpet. Takeda steps behind him. His shadow spreads into Genji’s view revealing a hesitant hand raised to grasp his arm.

“Genji-kun. I’m sorry. Your phone. I will instruct them to return it to you once we are through.”

Genji tucks his head down to hide a grin. That didn’t take long at all. He keeps his back ramrod straight, an air of heavy disappointment in the tilt of his head. A lifetime of experience has allowed him to perfect his act.

“Genji-kun?” Even the voice has gone meek, so different from the boss persona Takeda had worn in front of his bodyguards. It takes so very little to break a vulnerable man.

“Get over here,” he growls. Takeda stumbles forward with a whimper. Genji grabs the back of Takeda's neck and shoves face down on the bed. His hips grind against the tailored slacks once, and Takeda shudders, rocks back with a muffled moan.

“I hope this room has better soundproofing than your other hotels, ojisan. I’m gonna make you scream.”

#  *****

Fukuda is waiting in the elevator for him. His eyes trace up and down Genji, a small frown on his face when Genji jogs over, eager to finally go out for the night.

“Got a problem?”

Fukuda grunts. “I heard. I just thought….” He trails away with a blush when Genji meets his eyes, a satisfied grin on his lips.

“You couldn’t possibly think I’d be the one limping out of here?” He grabs his dick roughly and laughs through the elevator’s long trip down.

The closer they get to the car, the more Fukuda tenses. Anger is an ill-tempered blade providing provisional strength with no direction, but damn if it didn’t look cute on the hulking yakuza stomping beside him. Genji checks out the way his ass moves in his cheap trousers, the bow-legged spread of his walk.

It’s a need he never looks at too closely, pushing the buttons of stern, repressed men until the buckle and bend enough for Genji to slide inside and eat them heart first. He just does it.

Fukuda snatches the car door open and gestures for Genji to climb aboard. Instead, Genji stops just short of Fukuda’s reach.

“Yo, Fukuda-san, if you’re interested, I could show you.”

“Get in the car, pretty boy,” Fukuda huffs.

“Not until you answer. Do you want me to show you?”

Fukuda’s brow furrows while he weighs between ignoring Genji and engaging with him. “Fine, bastard. Show me what?”

“You’re not that ugly, you know? You’d look cute on my cock too.” He grins when Fukuda’s cheeks grow red with fury. “Say you’ll be my little Fukuda-chan, and I’ll show you why your boss parties with me.”

Fukuda spins on his heel in a move Genji doesn’t expect. The punch crushes against his cheekbone, and Genji’s head snaps back, hitting the car door. He slides down the side of the vehicle.

“Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit.”

Genji stares up at Fukuda’s panicked face. His mouth moves but nothing comes out. His vision grows black at the edges when Fukuda hauls his body up and drops him into the back seat.

“Take us to someone else’s territory,” Fukuda growls. “The Onigiri or… or the Shimada. Just. Get us the fuck out of here.”

It’s a much different ride from than to the hotel. The lights hurt his eyes, but they’re too full of tears to keep them closed. Strangely, the voice he hears railing at him in his head is Hanzo’s, taking him to task for his carelessness, his stupidity, his whorish nature. Or perhaps it’s not so strange. Hanzo doesn’t hate him, not really, but he has closed himself off from Genji.

If Hanzo would just allow himself to be close, he wouldn’t be in this position.

Genji tries laughing at the thought, but it comes out a slurred, broken sound.

The noise attracts the frightened attention of the men hired to prevent any trouble from reaching Takeda or his operations. They fucked it all up. Genji forgives them though.

 _Fukuda-chan_ , he tries to say. _Fukuda-chan, it’s okay. I’d make it so good for you._

The rush of air beneath the car comes to a stop. The door opens. Fukuda’s face swims into view again along with another sweaty man who can’t stop looking over his shoulder.

They toss Genji out into an ally. He lands with a thud. Movement seems beyond him, but he struggles past the pain enough to roll over. It’s dark here, but he can see the lights shifting and spreading at the mouth of the alleyway.

There are people passing by right now. A row of strangers scurrying about the unusually warm autumn night. Genji tries to call for help, but like in the car, no sound comes out. He floats on a cloud of pain. It slides down his spine into his belly and toes while the neon glow of the city swirls closer.

Closer.

How strange, he thinks, staring up into a ring of blue light. A hazed image reflects off the smoke. Hanamura by firelight. A street much like the ones he grew up on smolders while men in strange tactical gear retreat. They’re chased by a strange succession of characters in clothing far to casual for a battlefield.

In between the shouting and gunfire, Genji hears an elegantly accented voice rise in warning.

“There is a teleporter malfunction. I will close the way.”

More gunfire. A white-clad Omnic darts forward, blade flashing quickly to deflect a burst of gunfire. It’s like a movie, one Genji is falling into slowly. He can taste ash and blood on his tongue. A cool heat swallows him whole and then nothing.

#  **  
*******

A harsh scent coils up Genji’s nose, flaring his nostrils, teasingly, hauntingly until it reaches up to slap Genji’s frontal lobe. He inhales hugely, which is the greatest mistake he’s made since waking up. The scent is in his mouth now, tickling his tonsils until he chokes.

“Smells like shit.”

The mattress beneath him crinkles and rolls. Genji stills. One brown eye opens slowly, oh so slowly. It's never a good idea to face the folly of his predicaments head on. He’s seen far too many horrors of fuck-nights past that way.

This time, Genji finds a patterned brick wall of an alley, dumpsters, wet concrete, all from his bed of trash bags.

Genji laughs. It’s not the worst place he’s woken up.

He stands carefully feeling extraordinarily woozy. His first few steps are graceless, painful, like a colt discovering its legs. He stumbles into a brick wall twice before managing to walk out of the alley. When he reaches the corner, he finds Hanamura.

Even with his throbbing head and blurred vision, Genji can see there’s something different about the city. A feeling of ease lingers around the strangers wandering along the sidewalk. So odd this time of day. He searches for a sign of where in the neighborhood he is but can't quite settle. It's Shimada territory for sure. A faded mark on the nearest building's foundation tells him that much, but the mark is weathered, hardly distinguishable, as if someone worked to scrub it out of existence. 

Getting home is his first priority. He reaches for his phone, intent in calling for a car to pick him up, but he stops. He doesn’t want to fight right now. Not his father or Hanzo, and certainly not about his well-being and duties to the clan. Genji reaches for his wallet. It’s still in his pocket, the cret chip lodged beneath his id. Renting a room for the day is the best option.

Plan established, Genji exits the alley. His next step sends him slamming into a body built like a fucking rock wall. A flash of blue jacket, thick black hair pulled back to reveal shaved sides, half gloves, that's all Genji manages to see before he’s tumbling to the sidewalk beside a white pastry box. He rolls to his side, laughing between the pain.  

“Fuck, that hurt," he gasps. "What are you made of?”

“Are you alright?”

Genji looks up into brown eyes, pretty eyes. They widen as they meet Genji’s, a breathless curse parting his full lips.

Soft neon halos the stranger, highlighting a handsome face framed by a neat goatee and the wicked piercings affixed to his nose bone. Genji is staring at some quality pussy right now. The kind of trouble he likes.

He extends a hand, and after a moment, the hot ojisan takes it in his own. Strong hands, calloused fingertips, but they shake as Genji rises to his feet.

“Thank you,” Genji murmurs. He’s not one to feel self-conscious about his looks, but the way this ojisan is looking at him makes Genji squirm a little on the inside. He bends to pick up the forgotten pastry to escape the intense gaze. Dizziness crashes through Genji’s head when he tries to bow and present the moderately trampled box. He stumbles a little, touching fingertips to the back of his head. It comes away wet, bloody. He curses. Remembers his audience.

“Sorry ojisan.”

The stranger stares has shifted to surprise to disbelief, mouth parting and eyes unblinking, like he’s seen a ghost.

“Oh. I probably look like a delinquent. You don’t have to be afraid though. I’m Genji.” He thumps a finger against his chest. The movement sends his him listing sideways again

The stranger blinks furiously at those words. A high flush hit his cheeks turning him a beautiful rose beneath his tan. He grabs Genji’s shoulder to steady him.

“I am not afraid.”

“What are you then?” Genji asks, teasingly. He gets a hard look at that, dark gleaming eyes narrowed, and Genji feels a spike of heat in his gut at the hint of arrogance there.

“I am a good Samaritan. My name,” he pauses with two white teeth caught against his plush bottom lip, “is Hanagawa Touma. I have a place nearby if you need assistance.”

Genji schools his face to grateful before the damning grin can touch it. “Thank you, Hanagawa-san. Maybe I can stay until someone can come pick me up?”

“You are…” _presumptuous_ , Genji supplies in his mind, somewhat amused that the inner voice sounds like his brother’s, sharp and annoyed. “Welcome to, Genji, until we find a way to get you home. Apologies. I meant to say Genji-kun.”

They walk through the city streets, and the further they go, the less sure Genji is of where he is. It’s Hanamura, he’s sure of this, but the streets continue to be a little different. The Shimada sigils have been removed in this neighborhood. The gambling hall lights are dim. Where before people moved from restaurant to bar and bar to club, they bundle close together in warm coats with shopping bags in their hands. Snow falls gently to the ground.

“It wasn’t snowing.”

Hanagawa slows, head cocked. “Excuse me?”

“I was talking to myself, sorry.” Genji glares at the sky. “It’s not supposed to snow until next week.”

“And you are not dressed for the winter either,” Hanagawa says, taking in Genji’s floral bomber jacket. “Come. My apartment is just around the corner.”

The words while brusque are chiding, and Hanagawa picks up his pace again, leaving Genji to catch up to him. He does in three long strides, a grin touching his lips.

“Ano, Hanagawa-san, are you worried about me?”

“No.”

Hanagawa’s voice is flat, but his ears are pink. It’s a sweet combination, and Genji needs more. He trips on air so his body can brush against Hanagawa’s strong body. 

“Ahh,” he hisses, falling limp. “I am sorry. I just. Feel dizzy.” An arm sliding around his waist is the only reward he needs. His feet float with each step and a woozy feeling settles beneath his skin. 

“We’re almost there, Genji-kun. Please hold on.” he says, almost pleads, and Genji sighs if only to hide his smile.

#  *****

Hanagawa's apartment consists of four small rooms connected by a long, narrow hallway. The view from the back balcony is beautiful. The river flows below in a deep ravine, and in the distance, Yokohama appears as blurred lights on the horizon.

“Wait here one moment,” Hanagawa says once Genji is settled onto a small footstool. “I will retrieve the medkit and see to your wounds.”

“Yeah sure, uh, thank you, Hanagawa-san.” Genji is loath to let him escape, but he finds it’s worth it once Hanagawa’s lips part at his awkward expression of gratitude, the soft sound that escapes when Genji squeezes his hand before releasing it.

“Excuse me.”

There is a sparse grace to Hanagawa’s movements, a caution and quiet that comes with being alone. It’s there in the care in which he sets the cakebox on the counter, pauses on the balls of his feet and rises to pull items down from the open cabinets, which are neatly organized. These too he places on the counter soundlessly. Next, he turns on a small lamp, bows towards Genji, primly, before disappearing down the narrow hallway. That bow, so unusual in this time and place that Genji finds himself struck by it, charmed.  

Like many of his best plans, the idea to fuck Hanagawa-san arose from seeing the hard shell surrounding him like a carapace. Genji has always been intrigued by the seemingly emotionless mask worn by men like this. He wanted to smash it, dip his hands inside the heart, and draw the messy strings of their desire to his lips for a taste. And Genji knows this man, who showed him kindness and blushed at the thought of bringing him to his home, will be very sweet.

After drawing three slow breaths, Genji rises to follow the path on silent feet. There are two doors, one closed, the other cracked with a pale light and the sound of running water escaping. Genji stands just within the shadows and peers inside, catching Hanagawa’s reflection. His handsome face is filled with sorrow. His hands clutch the edge of the sink. Genji can’t imagine what put could create that look, but he does know that this man is beautiful, beautiful and alone, and about to become _his_.

In the mirror, Hanagawa’s face twisted again, and for one painful moment, it looked as if he were going to cry. The moment passes like a wave on the sands, clearing emotion from the lovely face on his next breath. Hanagawa sets his hands beneath the running water and splashes it at his cheeks.

“Better,” he mumbles after patting his face dry.

Genji raps on the doorframe. “Hanagawa-san? I need to use the bathroom.”

With a low curse, Hanagawa whirls towards the sound of his voice. His mouth works soundlessly before the emotion slides from his face again, so practiced Genji imagines both he and Hanzo might have studied at the same tutor.

“Genji-kun. I apologize. I will. Allow me to,” Hanagawa grows quiet and stiff when Genji shuts the door.

“It’s fine. I imagine it’ll be easier if we do this in the bathroom anyway.” The sound of Genji’s zipper cuts through the silence. Genji brushes Hanagawa’s body as he passes, watches the color slide over his cheeks when Genji drags his dick from his pants and leans over the toilet. He expects to hear the door slide open after protests, but there’s only water splashing and Hanagawa’s harsh intake of air, offended perhaps, shocked, but he doesn’t leave.

 _I’ve got you_ , Genji thinks, in that dark, hungry part of his mind. _I got you_.

After tucking back into his pants, Genji turns back. Hanagawa glares angrily at the sink, ears a fetching shade of pink. It only takes a moment for Genji to arrange his face into something soft, wide-eyed and chagrined.

“Hey, Hanagawa-san. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” He stumbles against the cabinetry with a bang, hisses and rubs his knee. There’s a steady hand against his temple and another on his arm before he could blink.

Once, Genji had told his father time and time again that he could be an actor, but the idea had been shut down like all his other dreams. The extra work he put in with his drama teacher are paying off tonight.

“Your head. I must see to your wound now before you hurt yourself further.” Hanagawa helps Genji out of his jacket and shirt, then collects the supplies. Genji washes his hands.

Without his shirt, the chill in the air becomes noticeable. Did the apartment have no heat? Doubtful as this building is not that old, but Hanagawa hadn’t removed any layers since they entered the apartment.

The medkit is filled to the brim with expensive healing technologies. Biotic pads, synth-stitch, replenishment capsules, a strange capsule with the image of a glowing helix embedded on the side. Genji recognizes them all from the aftermath of a few contracts he’s completed for the clan. Before using any of those, Hanagawa wets a cloth and begins cleaning the gore from the back of Genji’s head.

Hanagawa’s touch is deft, his manner still as he completes cleaning and then applying the synth-stitch to his scalp. Next, he picks up the biotic can and pours half the contents into a glass. “The cut is deep. You should also drink this biotic fluid to maintain optimal healing levels.”

Genji frowns at the yellow fizz but swallows it down with a pleased hum. “Cherry melon flavor is my favorite,” he confesses, licking his lips. “But that’s only in the children’s doses.”

Another flush licks across Hanagawa’s cheeks. ”It goes down easier.”

“The sweet things always do.” Genji agrees. He smacks his lips together. “Ahh. I’m feeling better already. My headache is fading. I hope this doesn’t scar.” He twists in the mirror trying to see the extent of the wound.

Hanagawa observes over his shoulder. “Excuse me, Genji-kun, but what happened to you tonight? Did you get into a fight with your friends?”

Genji ducks his head, basking in the concern in Hanagawa’s voice. “Eh, you couldn’t call it a fight. I provoked a guy. Pressed his buttons for a little fun. I deserved it, really.”

“No.” Hanagawa says, voice cool and sharp as a tempered blade. “No, Genji. You did not deserve it.”

“Yeah, I did. I have a problem, Hanagawa-san. A failing, at least that’s what my brother says. Sometimes I find myself in situations, and things go too far.” He pulls his body inward, shoulders straight and adopts a harsh scowl, and then says in his best impersonation of his brother, “’If you would only stop and think of the consequences, you would not indulge in your escapades and avoid harm.’”

Sighing, Genji dissolves the harsh veneer. “He’s right.”

Hanagawa looks away then, a frown pulling at his lips, which are pink and smooth. “No. He is not.”

“He usually is. It’s what makes him so fucking annoying, but Hanagawa-san. You don’t have to do this for me, you know? I like that you are, but you don’t have to.”

Hanagawa shakes his head. “No. No, you are hurt. Someone should take care of you, Genji. Kun.”

Genji’s lips spread into a crooked grin. “Oh? Hanagawa-san wants to take care of me?”

Hanagawa stares at him, and that unbearable sadness creeps into his eyes, making their sienna depths shine like the moon over lake waters. Beautiful, but not as beautiful as the raw emotion in his voice when he says, “You deserve to be taken care of, Genji-kun. You deserve far more than what I could ever give you.”

No one has expressed that kind of sentiment for Genji before, not with such honesty. His heartbeat quickens, and he reaches for Hanagawa’s shoulder, which is broad and trembling beneath his palm.

“No one’s ever said anything like that to me,” Genji whispers.

“They should,” Hanagawa replies, voice low. “They should always.”

They stand there staring at each other for longer than is appropriate, but Genji doesn’t mind because he’s close to Hanagawa now, so close he can almost see through that shell around him. The soft wool in Hanagawa’s coat slides beneath the hand roving down, down stopping at Hanagawa’s hips. Genji cups them gently, stepping closer. His forward movement is arrested by a single hand placed on his chest. Hanagawa’s brow furrows even as his nose twitches.

“Genji,” he says. “Your heart.” Like he’s confused by how quickly it’s pumping beneath his palm. Like he can’t fathom the reason. Genji rests his weight forward, knowing his body heat seems to melt he invisible barrier between them. All he can think is how tender he will be to this stranger who offered him kindness. The softest kisses, the gentlest fingers, all to make him pliant and open for his hard cock. A deep dicking in thanks of his sentimental nature. It likely saved his life tonight. And Hanagawa looks so dazed by Genji’s presence, he’d probably let him without any fuss.

“I want to thank you,” he breathes. “Hanagawa-san, I want to thank you so much, but first.” He looks down, a bashful expression sliding over his face. ”Do you mind if I take a shower?”

Through his lashes, he can see Hanagawa’s tongue slide over his lips, a faint smile curving there.

“A shower. You,” he sniffs and politely holds back a grimace, “Of course, Genji-kun.”

“Thanks. I stink. It’s nice of you not to say so, but it’s true.”

Hanagawa’s brows rise slowly, and then he laughs. It’s a small sound, both rough and creaky with disuse, but it is glorious. Genji vows in that moment to hear it again and perhaps again again, all to make this stranger his own.

#  *****

After washing the scent of rotting club nights from his skin, Genji dries and slips into the pants left for him. They are comfortable, spun cotton so soft they feel like silk to the touch and match the navy-blue set clinging to Hanagawa’s muscular frame.

“I made dinner. Ramen,” Hanagawa says when Genji enters the small living space. His eyes flicker over Genji’s smooth chest, confirming that he was right to leave the matching shirt neatly folded on the counter.

“It smells tasty,” Genji drawls. “What’s to drink.”

“Water.” Hanagawa hands him a glass that’s filled with tepid liquid. Genji frowns.

“Eh? Can’t we have something else. Nano Cola? Beer?” He frowns when Hanagawa shakes his head. “Sake?”

Here, Hanagawa pauses. “Genji-kun has been injured, and has taken the biotic fluid. It shouldn’t be mixed with alcohol.

Genji smiles faintly. “Thank you for your concern, but I am a big boy. I can handle it.” He watches Hanagawa frown, then visibly hold back his complaint. Warm sake is added to the table, and they share a meal together.

Once the dinnerware is cleaned and returned to the small shelves, Genji and Hanagawa move to the futon with more sake to share.

If he had thought the sake would make Hanagawa more talkative, Genji would be sorely disappointed. Color stains his cheeks as his pink mouth parts, but not words come out. It is both beguiling and amusing to Genji, this stoic man tongue-tied from staring.

Genji slides a hand down his bare chest. “What is it? Still got some soap on me?”

Hanagawa shakes his head. “I thought there’d be a tattoo.”

“Oh?”

“You just seem the type.”

“This from a guy with all those freaking piercings. Can I?” he asks. Hanagawa merely tilts his head into the light. The piercings aren’t the holographic kind or the tiny magnets floating around the body. They’re real piercings that split through the ear. Genji’s fingers trail lightly down the metal to the fleshy lobe, then trail along the soft skin of his neck. Hanagawa shivers.

“Genji-kun is rather… close.”

“Eh? You think it’s odd that I would want to be close to the stranger who saved my life tonight. Especially when he’s so handsome. Good friendships start this way. You should want to be close.”  

“I should want to be close,” Hanagawa repeats, voice dubiously soft.

“Yeah, close. Like this.” Genji illustrates his point by moving closer until he sat directly beside Hanagawa. Their hips and thighs brush against each other now, and his hand settles on Hanagawa’s thigh. So muscular, really. He wonders how thigh they’ll feel pressed against his sides.

“You know, I was thinking. Hanagawa-san is a good host and has taken very good care of me, but I look at him now and I think maybe,” Genji leans in close, lips close to the delicate curve of his ear, “Maybe someone should take care of Hanagawa-san.”

His companion stills beside him, a mutter of protest caught in his throat. Such a pretty line of skin that flexes as Hanagawa swallows. Genji settles an arm around him, squeezing gentle.

“It’s so obvious that Hanagawa-san is so lonely. Why else would he let a young punk into his house at night?”

“I am a helpful person,” Hanagawa says, stiffly.

“Oh? And you’re used to rendering aid to everyone, huh?”

“Well, no. Not, it’s just that it is you, Genji. You needed help.” His voice sounds lost for a moment, embarrassed by it for some reason.

Genji laughs, taking a sip of his sake and encourages Hanagawa to do the same.

The conversation turns to lighter topics then. Genji tells stories, because he likes talking about himself and Hanagawa seems interested in the inane and sometimes dangerous mischief he and his friends get into. He’s just about to spring the punch line on a misadventure with some friends had while breaking into a famous wrestler’s beach house in Chiba, when Hanagawa interrupts him with a chortle.

“But to try and seduce his mother? You are incorrigible.” He nuzzles into Genji’s shoulder and a thick lock of hair falls free to curl over his cheek. It’s artless, so fucking beautiful, Genji whines a little in his throat.

“Moms need love too, and she looked interested. What would you have done in that situation?” The pleasant warmth infusing Hanagawa’s smile fades. He shifts as if to turn away, but Genji keeps him near with a tug of his hand. “Hanagawa-san? Did I offend you.”

“No,” he says, hoarsely. “I’ve spent much of my life thinking through that very question. The choices I have made. I fear they were not the right ones. I have been asked over and over again to choose between two impossible choices. And now, I have been asked to ‘pick a side.’”

They are perhaps the most words he’d spoken to Genji all night and as such, the most revealing. The picture he’s painted in this mind becomes clearer still. Duty bound, possibly even repressed until recently given the newness of his piercings. His hesitance at even trying to take advantage of Genji. He’d almost call the man virginal if not for the clear dedication he pays to his body. No one would deny themselves the pleasure of Hanagawa’s body, certainly not Genji.

Genji slides his fingers through Hanagawa’s, brushing over the calloused tips with his thumb. “It sounds like your lovers have been selfish people, Hanagawa-san, to cause you so much anguish. You should just pick me instead.”

Hanagawa’s stare seems both piercing and miles away. “Pick you?”

Two hours, Genji thinks, leaning in. He’s been in this place for nearly two hours two long with those soft lips calling to him like this. He leans in brushing their mouths together. Hanagawa freezes, breath caught in his throat.

“Yes, Hanagawa-san. Pick me,” Genji repeats before closing in on a second kiss.

Hanagawa whines quietly, a broken sound that causes Genji to deepen the kiss in an attempt to chase away the sorrow. Hanagawa tastes so sweet, shivers under Genji's touch, until all at once, he pushes Genji away. Yet the strength in his arms seems diminished. His hands slide down to Genji’s chest over his heart and then raises them to cup Genji’s cheeks. The touch is so tender, the voice is so tortured when he says, “Genji, wait. I am.”

Genji can’t wait, the desperation wrapped tightly around his name. He swoops in for another kiss, this one harsher, tugging at Hanagawa’s lips with his teeth until they part for him. Another protest is on the tip of Hanagawa’s sweet tongue. Genji doesn’t want to hear it.

The pants Hanagawa wears are washed to gentle thinness that’s malleable to Genji’s quick hands. He grabs Hanagawa’s cock, pleased at how warm it is in his palm. Squeezes until it plumps. Hanagawa bucks his hips up then falls back, thighs closing around Genji’s arms. His eyes are black and open wide, staring at the ceiling.

“No, no. Look at me,” he commands. Hanagawa’s eyes close then, stubbornly, and it makes Genji smile to see it. He crowds closer until Hanagawa’s body rests on his thighs, Hanagawa’s round ass tight against his stiffening cock and begins to rock. He drags the hand Hanagawa has gripping a cushion down to his chest. “Look at me.”

Hanagawa’s eyes part. They are wet, arousal mixed with shame.

“I’m picking you tonight. Pick me. You want to. I can feel it.” His tongue drags across Hanagawa’s mouth. “I can taste it.”

He takes the next kiss deeper, exploring Hanagawa’s mouth with his tongue. The taste is rich with plums, salt, sadness. He breaks free to drag a breath, watching the pink mouth part for a shuddering breath.

“Genji. Genji,” he whispers turning into and away from each kiss until the squirming slows and each drugging kiss ends with a moan that sounds like please, I can’t, and finally, _finally_ , "yes."

He peels the soft pants from Hanagawa’s body revealing the pink sweetness of his cock wetting his pale inner thigh. He strokes the head, runs the length of it with his knuckles, cups the delicious sac in his palm and squeezes while Hanagawa bucks and moans, sweat beading at his temple and along his neck.

“You’ve got a cute little cock, Hanagawa-san,” he says, delighted by the way it shivers and spurts under his scrutiny. “Oi! Don’t come yet, ojisan. I want to be inside you first.”

“Oh god,” Hanagawa moans. He struggles for calm, and Genji makes him work for it by pinning one knee down and spreading that perfect ass wide to expose his pink. Genji practically drools at the sight of the tight furl sitting their pristine and pink. Hanagawa arches into a perfect bow when Genji’s finger begins massaging the rim.

“Please, Genji. Please. I will come,” he cries. The sound morphs to a strangled yelp as Genji’s curls his balls in his fist. Hanagawa shakes in his fist, body tight, mouth panting for breath and he shakes and shakes as the thwarted orgasm dies inside him.

While waiting for Hanagawa to regain composure, Genji ducks low, placing kisses and nips along Hanagawa’s thighs and the soft swell of his cheeks. He lets his hunger pool in his mouth and dribble from his tongue onto the sensitive skin. Rubs it into his hole just to see him struggle all over again. Spit isn’t enough though. He’s got lube somewhere, his wallet. It’s on the kitchen counter. Hanagawa must have placed it there when he put Genji’s clothing into the tiny washing machine. So very considerate.

“Roll over,” Genji says.

Despite the shaking limbs, there’s no hesitation, no protest. Hanagawa pushes up to his knees already spreading himself for Genji. The desperation transfers to Genji himself. His cock aches with it heavy and thick in his soft pants. Eager to make his home inside the other man’s body, he plans to keep the prep minimal, but the plan is stalled with Hanagawa’s supreme tightness and the heady groans he smothers into the cushions.

“Hanagawa-san is very lonely, huh?” Genji chides, three fingers digging deep until tears drip from Hanagawa’s sooty lashes.  “Don’t worry. You have me now, you won’t be lonely ever again.”

He lines up and presses inside slowly, so slowly. His teeth grind together in an effort to stay focused, patient when every inch is a sweltering kiss of paradise on his dick, and then he’s inside, hips flush to Hanagawa’s ass. It’s like coming home. He waits until they’re both adjusted before sliding back, slamming back in with a whoop while Hanagawa bawls his name.

“Yeah. That’s right. Gonna fuck you good and hard. You need it too bad for me to go slow.”

“Yes. Take me,” Hanagawa’s voice shakes with each thrust then drops. “Punish me.”

Genji stops all at once. The words, the pain, they make him tired and dizzy all at once. He slaps Hanagawa’s rump. He likes the throaty cry from Hanagawa so much that he does it again.“Stop that. I’m not here to punish you, Hanagawa-san. I’m here to take care of you. I’m. I’m going to love you.” Genji decides it there and then. Hanagawa lets out a weak breath, something like a sob. “We’ll talk about that other stuff later,” he adds, because he’s into that too.

He’s tender from then on. His thrusts rolling in slow and deep like a wave, unerring in their push against Hanzo’s secret place until he’s rocking back, urging Genji to go faster. Genji leans over his back instead content to place sucking kisses along his neck and the top of his spine. His shirt is really getting in the way though. He begins pushing the offending material up the smooth back, placing small kisses here and there. It’s not until the shirt clears Hanagawa’s ribs that he sees it, a splash of deep blue ink cut by ancient clouds and a curving shape like ancient waves or, no. Scales. The mark of a dragon there on Hanagawa’s shoulder.

Hanagawa’s moaning becomes shivery with fear. It’s a sound Genji’s heard only a few times in his life.

Genji stares unable to comprehend, to believe. It can’t be, but. He tears at the shirt until it’s gone. There’s no mistaking that tattoo. Genji had been there when the first line had been placed.

“Anja?” His voice cracks from the shock of it, from the heavy clench of his brother’s ass tightening around the base of his cock. “Hanzo, are you… Hanzo!?”

“Genji.” God, the way he says Genji’s name. How could he have been so blind?

All at once, Genji knows this is a dream. The little oddities of the place he’s been inhabiting make sense. He’s been dreaming this whole time. There’s no way this is his brother. Not this shivering, sobbing man who is at least twenty years older than Genji. Not this man with heavy muscles and the sides of his head shaved down whimpering and clenching down around him like he’s afraid Genji might pull out and leave him aching and empty. As if Genji ever could.

Genji withdraws, despite the soft whimpers coming from Hana… no, Hanzo. He rolls his brother over, grabs his strong jaw so he can study this stranger’s face. After only a little time, he can see Hanzo here. It’s in the shape of the eye, which are the same despite the smallest lines at their edges,  the fullness of the lips he’s kissed swollen. Hanzo is in the arrogance of those cheekbones and the shyness of his eyes that refuse to meet Genji’s gaze. Hanzo’s hair falls in heavy black waves even if a thin silver thread lies within the loose strands.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers. “I don’t understand and I don’t care. I’m still gonna make you mine, anja.” Genji pushes Hanzo’s knees to his chest and slides the tip of his cock of Hanzo’s hole. The tension and the fear makes Hanzo that much more tight inside. Genji slips back inside slowly.

Hanzo sobs when Genji begins fucking him again, heavy deep thrusts that rattle his bones. He repeats Genji’s name again and again while squeezing his tits and rocking his hips, curls forward, mouth twisting into a sob that he presses against Genji's mouth. 

“I dreamed you. I must have. I never thought I could imagine a Hanzo hotter than the one I have at home,” he murmurs, sweeping his hands over what his eyes have devoured. “So stubborn. So unattainable. I’d almost given up. I’m glad you’re such a slut here, Hanzo,” he ends with a lascivious sigh then laughs as come dribbles from the tip of his brother’s cock. “Look at me, Hanzo. Look at me.”

And his brother’s lashes part at his command.

Hanzo is beautiful when he comes with his dark eyes open and seeing only Genji, with his voice shaking as he cries out Genji’s name like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. He can’t keep this up. The pounding rhythm begins to break, his body surges forward one last time before he pours everything he’s ever been deep inside Hanzo’s body while tears fall on his skin. He clutches the quaking body tighter and murmurs sweet words into his ears until the crying stops and Genji’s heart beats slow.

The fucked-out stupor falls away from Genji’s mind quicker than normal when he feels body beneath him shuddering. Slowly, Genji blinks until his surroundings resolve into a handsome face aged by a circumstances Genji can’t fathom.

“Fuck. You really are Hanzo aren’t you? Is this a dream then? I must have dreamed you.” He reaches out to touch only to have his wrist snatched by a sure hand. This is surely his brother, only Hanzo can manage to look equal parts angry and repulsed by Genji reaching towards him with dirty hands.

Hanzo drops Genji’s wrist. “I am not the brother you know.”

“I’ll say,” Genji replies with a little wink. And Hanzo, his brother, who is pierced and breathless, blushes. Genji leans back over him. “You want me to bathe, huh? You sure you’re not the brother I know, anja? My dream seems pretty true to me.”

“This isn’t a dream, Genji. This is.” Hanzo melts into the kiss. His hand winds into Genji’s hair finally, finally, and his strong thighs part for Genji’s fingers.

“Sorry,” Genji whispers. “I wanted to keep a part of me inside you for a little longer. When we get out of the showers, I want to fuck you with my come.”

Hanzo shudders hard. He rolls away from Genji then feet heavy on the floor. His knees tremble when he stands, sweaty, naked but for the kiss mark bruising his neck like a collar.

“Come along then. We will shower and after.” Hanzo looks away. “After, I have some… friends who will help sort this out.”

It makes no sense, this weird, lucid dream, but Genji is down to go along for a while longer. He takes Hanzo’s hand in his, determined not to let him go. In this place, he seems sad but also receptive to his love, and Genji will give it to him as long as he can.

They rise from the futon together and leave for the darkened hallway, neither noticing the green light flickering outside the window.

 


End file.
